When It Was Warm Enough
by Edith1
Summary: Jess reflects on his relationship with his mother. Touches on his affection towards the bridge in Stars Hollow. Hints at Literati.


Title: "When It Was Warm Enough"  
Author: Edith Campbell  
Summary: Jess reflects on his relationship with his mother.  
Feedback: Oh please! :) Yesterdays_Child4@yahoo.ca Thank you!  
  
  
When it was warm enough, Mrs. Mariano would take Jess to see  
the ducks.  
  
This outing was always a big ordeal- an exciting adventure-  
that Jess, in all of his childhood glory, would look forward to almost  
feverishly. He would spend weeks at the library with his babysitter   
excitedly choosing picture books for his mother to read with him but   
would forget them all in the much anticipated moment when she would  
wake him up with a whisper of, "It's warm enough to see the ducks today."  
Then, he would become so giddy that she'd have to help him into his   
yellow raincoat and bright blue rubber boots. He refused stoutly to  
leave the apartment without either item for his entire fifth summer.   
Much later on, miserable with liquor, Mrs. Mariano would cry remembering  
that she had had to leave the boots on the balcony because of the  
smell.  
  
However, those outings were before the drink and were not clouded  
by anything.  
  
All the way to Central Park, mother and son would walk hand in  
hand, Mrs. Mariano clutching a bag of "surprise books" for Jess equally  
as tightly. They were a heartwarming pair, for although plain, Mrs. Mariano  
was pretty in her own way and obviously cared a great deal for her curly  
haired son. He would babble the entire way there, delirious with the  
opportunity to spend time alone with his mother, away from the ever present  
threat of her leaving abruptly for work.  
  
Upon arriving to the park, Mrs. Mariano would buy them both ice cream   
and they would make their way down the path, each pointing out things of interest  
to the other. Sometimes Jess reined in his excitement enough to tell his mother about  
kindergarten. However, when they came across the familiar turn, the task   
became impossible. Giggling, Jess would run ahead, dripping ice cream all over   
his rubber boots, until he came across a small bridge, sheltered and seemingly  
isolated from the rest of the park by a picturesque grove of trees. Jess  
liked it most when it was fall and the leaves were coloured, but this was summer  
and it had its own adventure in the form of ducks.  
  
Leaning on the railing, Jess would point and imitate the ducks, going  
as far as to flap his arms and run around, raincoat flailing, while Mrs.   
Mariano would sit on the bridge, dangling her feet, and laugh watching.   
When he tired himself out, he would come and stretch out beside her, and she would  
produce a book, never the picture books he imagined, but real novels. His mother  
was a romantic, and loved Charlotte Bronte and Jane Austen. These books bored  
Jess, but he was content enough to rest on the bridge, head in his mother's   
lap, and listen to her read, sometimes for hours.  
  
Summers in Central Park would always remind him of the itchy wool of  
Mrs. Mariano's skirt against his cheek and her soothing voice, pausing occassionally  
in her recitation to whisper almost secretly, "Someday you'll be the smartest little  
boy of all, and the most handsome, in your boots."  
  
  
  
  
When Mrs. Mariano was too sad, Jess would go and see the ducks by himself.   
Older now, he felt a little ridiculous honouring childhood traditions, and never told his  
friends where he disappeared every so often in the summer. He would strut down the path,  
shun the ice cream, and pretend that his heart didn't speed up at the old bend. The  
bridge had aged, but was still quaint in its quiet beauty. He would perch on the edge of  
it precariously, smoking a cigarette, and would watch the ducks paddle around. No   
longer did he feel the urge to run around and be a duck, so instead he would slump over  
and be completely by himself, nothing but a "trouble making introvert" as his mother had   
called him once not too long ago. He would picture her now, drunk and angry, and feel  
hollow inside.  
  
Without her presence, he would bring his own books. Somedays he would pretend she  
was there and read aloud for her benefit, but mostly he read quietly to himself. Sometimes  
he would stay until the sun was threatening to set. He tried not to think too much,  
because then he would miss her and he knew she was never going to be the same. Still, if  
he clenched his eyes shut, he could feel his hand in hers and clearly remember the thrill of  
being little with his mother in a park so big. He didn't like remembering this, so he would put  
his cigarette butts into his pocket (throwing them in with the ducks seemed sacriligiously wrong)  
and walk anywhere but home.  
  
  
  
  
  
When it was dark enough, Jess would walk to the bridge in Stars Hollow. It was not unlike  
his bridge in New York, although this new one looked out over a lake instead of a pond. He could  
ignore that, however, just as he could pretend that the ducks that gathered there were the same, used to people and cautiously friendly, unlike the naive Stars Hollow ducks who would paddle up to you without a care in the world.   
  
He no longer read at the bridge, choosing instead to sit alone and ponder. Here, he felt at   
home. Here, he had never felt more protected. Here, although he hated to admit it, something was missing, and he knew it had nothing to do with the damn ducks or the pond. To Luke he had hinted at missing Central Park. To Rory he had very casually mentioned his old bridge. To the ducks he admitted that he missed his mother.   
  
It was a fact that embarrassed him. He was, after all, seventeen and fully capable of operating  
without her. He was more than independent and she... had been so drunk the last time he'd seen her that she couldn't remember his name. He'd heard from Luke that she had mentioned being unable to handle him and his trouble and had convinced himself that that meant she cared. That meant that somewhere she was still the woman who had read to him in a park long ago. A mother who had loved him. A mother he still loved.  
  
  
  
  
  
When it was warm enough, Jess brought Rory to the bridge. She seemed to sense that his relationship with it was clouded with secrets and was awkward enough not to ask. He was glad, happy enough to sit with her, resting his cheek against her head. She would watch the smoke from his cigarette twirl towards the sky and wait silently for him to confide in her.  
  
Someday, he would. Someday, he would tell her all about it, but for now, he would only smile   
mysteriously and say, "Bring something for those damned ducks next time, would you?" He did not   
speak of his mother, but he would remember.  
  
Summer would always remind him of the itchy wool of Mrs. Mariano's skirt against his cheek and her soothing voice, pausing occassionally in her recitation to whisper almost secretly, "Someday you'll be the smartest little boy of all, and the most handsome, in your boots." 


End file.
